Trying on the Ekele
by MizzMarvel
Summary: As a young child growing up in New Orleans, Rogue learns a lesson from a mysterious woman. Deals heavily with religion, rated for brief violence.


Disclaimer - Most characters belong to Marvel. The others belong to MizzMarvel.  
  
***  
  
"Trying on the Ekele"   
  
  
She couldn't help but fear the woman just a little. The other kids told all sorts of stories, about how the woman was a wicked voodoo queen who bit off the heads of chickens during the horrific ceremonies and drank the blood of babies sometimes, when she felt like it.   
  
The girl, who was not yet known as Rogue, really saw no evidence of THAT. A lot of people still kept chickens, even in this big city of New Orleans, but mostly just for eggs, not ritualistic decapitation. Also, it seemed to little Rogue, who had just turned ten, that if the woman drank baby blood there'd be a serious shortage of babies in the neighborhood. But still, the rumors themselves were enough to make any rational child take caution when passing the old, dark house.   
  
There WERE some odd things that no one could deny. The woman always wore blue, for instance, and was more often than not at work in her garden, where she supposedly grew hemlock, but that was more conjecture. She had no family, no friends anyone knew of, and rarely even left her yard. Great whispered tales of her sins were embroidered and passed around schoolyards like a community Pixy stick, causing innumerable shivers and gasps. But being in groups caused bravado in some children, and dares to touch the front gate, throw trash into the yard, or yell cruel insults at her were rarely turned down. Meanwhile, the other kids stood across the street and watched, perversely entertained.   
  
Rogue stood with them. She was, after all, only a child.   
  
***   
  
"No, Irene, not another black dress! Let me get somethin' in white," Rogue begged.   
  
Irene shook her head solemnly. "You play to hard to have clothes in anything other than black," she answered calmly. "Black doesn't show wear as easily."   
  
"Ah'll take good care've it! Just please - one white dress. Anythin' but black!"   
  
"No. Besides, I'm told you look very nice in black."   
  
Rogue chose not to argue about it anymore. And she never did.   
  
***   
  
When Rogue walked to school, she went in the opposite direction of all the other neighborhood kids. They went to public school, happy and free in jeans and fearless grins, while she attended a strict, somber Catholic school where everyone wore the same black uniform. Rogue was just happy it had a white blouse.   
  
During her daily trek, she passed the woman's house. She would glance at it out of the corner of her eye and, relieved to not see the reputed voodoo queen, would proceed to pass by quickly with her gaze locked on her feet. It was the same every morning, and then again each afternoon.   
  
But one day it was not the same.   
  
Rogue was walking her usual way, overly brisk for such a sad-faced child, with painfully hunched shoulders. The sky was cloudy and threatened rain; the girl had no umbrella.   
  
The house seemed to loom larger as she neared it. It was ancient and appeared to be crumbling, as do so many other New Orleans homes. It was a modest mansion, probably built in the early 1800s. Ivy climbed its walls in storybook fashion and the windows were dark and empty. The garden could only be seen through a few irregular vents in the hedge just inside the wrought-iron fence, but what one COULD see was green and magnificent.   
  
Too bad everyone was too afraid of the woman to get a better look.   
  
Rogue walked on steadily, dogged in her desire to get to school on time lest the nuns punish her. As she got closer to the house, her eyes became fixed on the ground, as always. Finally, she looked up, expecting to see nothing.   
  
The woman stood sweeping the walk outside her gate.   
  
Little Rogue was so shocked at this change in routine that she stopped dead in her tracks. She had never seen the woman so close before; her appearance was not as initially frightening as one would expect. She was unbelievably regal, her long sea-blue dress flowing around her like waves caressing a mermaid. Silver bracelets adorned her wrists and they clinked as she swept the broom back and forth. There was a necklace of blue and white stones around her throat. The woman was of African descent, with a serene moon-shaped face that carried the slightest smile. Her age was impossible to determine.   
  
For the first time in ages, Rogue stood absolutely straight, her eyes wide. She felt paralyzed, transfixed by this vision of a person of mythic proportion. It was as if Circe were standing before a Greek, or if Rhiannon were suddenly to appear in an Irish home. It was unbelievable, awe-inspiring, and yet still incredibly terrifying. Then, after what felt to be hours, she exhaled, her breath warm with tension.   
  
As if that small sound needed attention in its own right, the woman looked up from her work for the first time, her large brown eyes making contact with Rogue's. It was only then that her age was belied - the supposed witch carried the knowledge of many years. Her smile grew larger and friendly.   
  
"Hello," she said simply.   
  
"Hi," Rogue answered. It was an automatic response, like bracing oneself when the car lurches or crying out when struck. She was horrified with herself.   
  
"It's gonna be a lovely day," the woman continued lightly while lifting her brown eyes to the overcast sky.   
  
"Ummm, yeah." With that, the spell was broken. In a speed she was not accustomed to, Rogue resumed her journey to school.   
  
And the woman was right - the day was beautiful.   
  
***   
  
"It's a waste of time, playin' that violin," Rogue's older brother Graydon said.   
  
"But ah love mah violin," she protested, hugging it against her chest.   
  
"There's no use to it, though. Ya can't make a livin' with it. Ya know how many people try to be profess'nal musicians, an' how many actu'lly make it? The odds aren't good. Unless, ya know, yer a prodigy, which, no 'ffense lil sister, ya AREN'T. Just think 'bout it." He left the room.   
  
Rogue watched him go. Then she placed the violin in the case and closed it, and there was no music in her house anymore.   
  
***   
  
The neighborhood gang of kids stood across the street, marveling at the huge house. There were about nine of them, of similar ages, and invariably seemed always to be together. Rogue was something of an outsider due to her attendance of another school, but her presence was tolerated. The situation was as such at the moment.   
  
"Mah cousin Courtney said that the woman put a voodoo hex on the dog next door," one of the older boys said. "It ran 'round for ten minutes foamin' at the mouth, then just dropped dead."   
  
"Ah heard that too!" a girl cried. "Then right after, the dog's owner heard the woman's ole witch laugh in the wind!"   
  
"Miz Journette found a pile a dead mice on her front step."   
  
"Mr. Ribadoux said there was a cross made a graveyard dirt in his driveway - an' that day his car wouldn't start!"   
  
"But we don' know it was her," a small voice remarked. The whole group turned to investigate; it was Rogue.   
  
"Whatta YA know?!" a boy asked angrily. "Ya ain't even a part a things!"   
  
"Yeah! Ya don' go to our school!"   
  
"Ya don' know all the stories!"   
  
"But ah walk by her house every day," Rogue protested softly. "An' nothin' bad's ever happened."   
  
A malicious grin passed over the face of one girl. "That ain't the same. Maybe ya should go an' SEE if she's a witch..."   
  
The other kids laughed and seized Rogue by the arms. She yelped, suddenly aware of what they were going to do to her. She struggled against them as they forced her across the street, but she was a small child as it was and far outnumbered. They dug their nails into her forearms and tears of pain, fear, and humiliation hovered in her eyes. One boy detached from the mob and pulled open the woman's front gate. Rogue dug her heels into the pavement, a last attempt at resistance, but they managed to hurl her into the garden, giggling as they clanged the gate shut and ran away.   
  
Rogue fell violently to the cement ground and began to sob. She made no attempt to escape to escape; the children she had formerly regarded as friends were suddenly a bigger fear and disappointment than any voodoo queen. Bright crimson blood began to seep out of her scraped knees and trickle down her legs. The sight of it made her cry even harder.   
  
"Poor thing," a kind voice said out of nowhere.   
  
Rogue looked up; before her stood the woman. Abruptly, she ceased sobbing.   
  
"Here, try on my ekele. It'll make you feel brave." She slipped off her necklace and hung it around Rogue's neck. "We'd better get ya cleaned up," the woman continued, and before Rogue could say or do anything in protest, she gathered the child in her arms and started to walk towards the house.   
  
She carried Rogue with surprising ease. From the softness and strange comfort of her arms, the girl saw, for the first time, the garden in all its splendor. Trees grew all around the home, casting a cool, protecting shade over it. There was a small pond where fish doubtlessly swam and near to that was a fountain, which, though dry, gave the place an aura of peacefulness. Best of all were the flowers - roses, lilies, tulips, daffodils, and so many more, in all different colors and all sprinkled everywhere. Spellbound by all this, Rogue forgot to be afraid.   
  
The woman made her way up the front steps and onto the porch where, effortlessly, she shifted the girl into one arm, opened the door, and walked inside without missing a beat. In an adjoining room, she sat Rogue down on a small couch.   
  
"Ah'll be raght back," she said, and left the room.   
  
Rogue took the opportunity to again survey her surroundings. The room seemed nice enough, though nothing special unless one knew a thing or two about antiques. There were candles everywhere, it seemed. But what really struck her most was the light; despite the fact that no lamp or candle was alight, the house was keenly bright and sunny.   
  
The woman returned carrying a bottle of rubbing alcohol and some cotton balls. She sat down on a chair near the couch, put a little alcohol on a cotton ball, and placed it on one of Rogue's wounds.   
  
"Now, this won' hurt a bit," she murmured.   
  
And it didn't. She carefully washed the wounds, then set aside the equipment.   
  
"There!" she said with a smile. "All done!" She was quiet for a moment, then inquired, "Would ya lahk a glass a apple juice?"   
  
Wary, but terribly thirsty, Rogue nodded. In a few minutes she was sitting up, sipping her apple juice through a straw.   
  
"Mah name is Tante Mattie," the woman said, clutching her own glass with fingers of silver rings. "What's yers?"   
  
"Mara," Rogue answered without thinking, dumbfounded by the fact the woman even HAD a name. It was like finding out the identity of the Mona Lisa; it stripped away some of the mystery.   
  
"That's a pretty name." Tante Mattie sipped her apple juice before going on. "Y'know, yer the first guest ah've had in a long tahm. Ah see ya walk past mah house ever' day, an' ya always walk lahk the devil's nippin' at yer heels. Ah always wonder what makes ya need ta move so fast."   
  
"Ah jus' need ta get ta school on tahm," Rogue answered softly, not completely lying. "The nuns get angry if yer late."   
  
"Oh, ah see. Ah thought maybe ya were 'fraid a me." She paused. "Ah know what people say 'bout me."   
  
"No! Well, ah don't really think ya drink the blood of babies or bite the heads off chickens or that stuff."   
  
Tante Mattie burst out laughing. "Bite the heads off chickens! Ah nevah heard that one b'fore! Girl, ah keep those chickens out back for the eggs. And the roosters. The roosters are important."   
  
Rogue nodded solemnly. "That's what ah thought. So yer not a voodoo queen?"   
  
The woman laughed again. "No. Ah don' do any evil hexes or hurt an'thang or whatnot. People jus' get things all confused. It's mah religion. Santeria...no one who really knows an'thang calls it hoodoo 'nymore." She hesitated, fingering one of her silver bracelets. "It's why ah always wear blue. And mah bracelets. For Yemaya...the mother."   
  
"Yemaya wants ya to wear blue?" Rogue asked.   
  
Tante Mattie's smile was grateful and pleased. "Yeah. She came from the sea."   
  
"Oh. That's neat. So ya don' do any magic at all?" She was almost disappointed.   
  
"Well, ah can read palms, but it seems that ever'one can do that." This was true; palm reader shops were littered all over New Orleans. "Let me see yers." Rogue held out her left hand. Mattie held it in her own and peered at the palm intently. Her face grew worried and slightly sad. She looked up at Rogue. "Ya gotta be strong, child. Raght now ya depend on others, an' that's okay when yer a lil girl still, but later ya'll see that sometimes ya can only trust yerself. Because..." Mattie paused, and Rogue realized that she was carefully choosing her words, something she was unaccustomed to. "Because sometimes ya won' know if the day'll be lovely or not. Ya just gotta wait an' see."   
  
"Ah don't understand," Rogue said, puzzled.   
  
"Good. Ya shouldn'. The future is for understandin' the past, not vice versa." She glanced out the window absently. "It's gettin' a lil late. Someone'll be wonderin' where ya are." Tante Mattie took Rogue by the hand and led her through the house and back into the garden.   
  
"Ah wish ah could have a dress with all the colors a yer flowers on it," Rogue said wistfully, self-consciously touching the sleeve of her black jacket.   
  
"Maybe someday ya will," Mattie replied. At the front gate, she took the necklace from Rogue's neck, gave the girl a small hug and slipped one of her silver rings onto Rogue's thumb. "Now watch o'er yerself, lahk ah said."   
  
Rogue smiled, no longer afraid. She passed through the gate and, when it closed, found her knees held no mark of their wounds.   
  
***   
  
"Your problem, child, is that you're far too strong-willed," Sister Marie Bernadette scolded.   
  
"Why's that so bad?" Rogue asked.   
  
"Little girls should be meek and quiet. Little girls should never question, never falter, and always be humble. As your superior, you should never disobey me."   
  
"Never? Why never? Why?"   
  
"Because God will never accept you otherwise." The sister picked up a ruler and raised it menacingly. "Now hold out your hand."   
  
Rogue held out her hand and took her punishment silently.   
  
***   
  
Rogue was walking to school as if it were any other day. In truth, she had no idea it was anything other than normal. She had just passed Tante Mattie's house and stepped off the curb to cross the street.   
  
It wasn't completely the driver's fault; Rogue had neglected to look both ways. But if he hadn't just drunk one and a half bottles of tequila, maybe he would have seen her. Maybe he could have slowed down or stopped in time. Maybe the impact wouldn't have been so bad. But this wasn't the case.   
  
The car hit the girl going eighty-four miles per hour, throwing her several hundred feet. Both legs, one arm, and quite a few ribs were broken, and when she hit the ground her spleen ruptured and she began to bleed both internally and externally. At least it was sudden; the shock shielded her from pain. The last thing she saw was the blood flowing into her eyes. Then everything went black.   
  
There are some people who say that there's nothing after death, that the blackness is the end of everything. Rogue now knew that this was not true. She was thoroughly aware that she was dead. She still had use of her senses - sight, tough, sound, and so forth. But she no longer had any awareness of her body; she was a spirit, a naked soul. Even to herself, she could not express how it felt.   
  
It was dark. It was cold. She was moving fast. Somewhere before her, too far away to even calculate, was a distant pinpoint of light, steadily growing larger and warmer. Rogue knew that if she could only reach it, she would never be cold, never be sightless again.   
  
But she didn't want to get there! She knew, only by instinct, that the light was the final threshold of death, from which she'd never be able to cross over again. She was only ten-years-old! She would never drive a car, never see the world, never be kissed... She didn't want to get there! But she was going faster and faster, and the light was shining brighter and brighter, and oh, she was so close...   
  
Then all around her a voice began to chant:   
  
"Return to me. Return to me."   
  
She felt the speed slowing.   
  
"Return to me. Return to me."   
  
She stopped completely.   
  
"Return to me. Return to me."   
  
She was moving backwards.   
  
"Return to me. Return to me."   
  
She was falling as fast as she'd been rising.   
  
"Return to me. Return to me."   
  
And she was falling.   
  
"Return to me! Return to me!"   
  
Rogue could feel the heaviness of her body again. She lived.   
  
She opened her eyes and felt no more blood flowing. Her broken bones were again whole, and the internal damage was nonexistent. The only evidence that something out of the ordinary had happened were her torn clothes and the single, snow-white lock of hair were only moments before it had all been brown.   
  
Rogue was being held like a baby in Tante Mattie's arms. The woman was kneeling on the ground, her blue skirts stained with the little girl's blood. Tears coursed down Mattie's smooth brown cheeks, but Rogue could still feel the power she held, that she had used to bring Rogue back. Tante Mattie may not have been a voodoo queen, but she was SOMETHING.   
  
"Child," Mattie sobbed. "I TOLD you to watch o'er yerself."   
  
***   
  
It's been five years since Rogue has seen New Orleans; she and her family had moved away to Mississippi shortly after her accident. That and her white streak of hair, which she complemented with bleach, were the only immediate effects of the car crashing into her.   
  
Now she's back, a mission with the X-Men inadvertently causing her homecoming. Apparently, there is a boy nearby who throws exploding cards, a new mutant. She doesn't care.   
  
The sky is cloudless and bright, and Rogue is strolling down the street of her childhood. A few of the nineteenth century houses have been replaced by apartment buildings, but more or less it's all the same. The real change is in Rogue herself. She walks with a straight back, her face not hidden from the world.   
  
The house she had feared as a child is coming into view. There are some puddles from last night's rain, but she does not mince around them - she splashes through, intent on her destination. The house looms larger, larger. Her pace is not overly fast, but deliberate.   
  
She is passing the house. The hedge that had backed the wrought-iron fence is gone, and Rogue suddenly wonders if a new person calls this place home. But...!   
  
In her place before the front gate stands Tante Mattie. She is unchanged by the years and as regal as ever, with her rings and bracelets and blue dress and necklace. She turns slightly and sees Rogue approach.   
  
"Well, hello, child." Tante Mattie smiles, not at all surprised. "Been takin' care a yerself?"   
  
"Almost, Tante Mattie," Rogue says. "Almost."   
  
First she would wear a dress with all the colors of the garden. Then she would take her violin out of its long seclusion and fill her heart with music. She would laugh and smile and live. And then, only then, would Rogue be taken care of.   
  
THE END   
  
***  
  
Author's Note - Whoa, trippy, huh? I've always really liked the character of Tante Mattie, so her she is in Evo form. I didn't exactly stay completely true to her comic form (the same can be said for Rogue in this fic), but sometimes you have to take liberties to make the story interesting. There's a lot of symbolism and metaphor in here. But I'm not going to list it all - it'd take too and besides, finding it is part of the fun! (Right??) This fic was the first that I did a lot of research for (mainly about Yemaya and the Santerian religion), was handwritten on 21 pages on notebook paper, and took FOREVER to type, so I hope it's worthwhile! Please don't review saying that Rogue never lived in New Orleans, doesn't play the violin, and whatnot. I know. But otherwise, by all means, review, review!  
  
Many thanks to Phoenix and her words of encouragement. This is dedicated to you. :) 


End file.
